Fix It, Now

Sixth grade saw a dramatic change in our approach to curriculum. Remedial, remedial, remedial was our new theme song. I purchased an entire K-8 basal reading program (left from the '50's!) and took Joe back to a second-grade reader that summer, retraining him each night under the guise of "reading Lydia a bedtime story." Gone was the literature-based English program we had used for three years; I learned, too late, that "Learning Language Arts through Literature" had miserable reviews, and attributed his low scores to that program. We began a multi-faceted remedial program which included comprehension work, reading workbooks, intensive phonics, "Easy Grammar," "Daily Grams" and "Reading and Reasoning." Science and geography continued, but with only a fraction of the intensity I had pursued them during our Sonlight days. The tester had also recommended a exercise program involving racquet balls and hula hoops. We added that to the daily repertoire, too, though none of us could understand how bouncing balls would make him a better reader.

I intended to retest Joe in the spring, so we also incorporated test-taking drills. This time, we had to succeed. So much seemed to be riding on it: my personal dignity, Joe's future, my position in the homeschooling community, and, last but not least...

My relationship with Mom. Yes, my mother, the retired school psychologist who had become furious when I announced our intentions to homeschool seven years earlier.

Perhaps some family background is in order. From the word "go," my family has been grounded in academia. On my father's side, we had grandfathers and great-grandfathers attaining advanced degrees from Ivy League institutions. My dad did graduate work at Harvard and attained his PhD at Rutgers, after which he became a history and classics professor. My mother also attained a graduate degree, and her brother became a professor at Washington University where he helped design the PET scan. I was raised in an atmosphere where academics meant everything. Imagine the sense of inadequacy I took on when I found out that my son, my student, was not measuring up! The pressure built up when we took our summer vacation to the family homestead. Daughters don't feel right when they keep dirty secrets from Mom.

So, in Jim's presence, I told her. At first she was surprisingly sympathetic, offering all kinds of advice. "I know he can do it," she said. That was soon to change, though, when we returned the following spring. Mom laid into me with crushing blows. She told me that he needed to get serious, now, about his academic future; that he wouldn't have bombed the test if he had been prepped in public school; that he didn't like learning. She believed that he couldn't read at all. I left that vacation feeling like a total failure, and, once again, set out to fix everything myself.


We tested again last spring, using the California Achievement Test untimed. This time, Joe did amazingly well, scoring above grade-level in areas he had failed the year before. I then began to wonder if the problem was less in Joe's abilities than in his inability to attend to a task. The fluency issues were real; it took him three times the allotted time limit to finish the math section, yet he got nearly all the answers right. The professional tester had tested him in several three-hour blocks, giving only snack breaks, but I tested only half an hour a day and his scores vaulted. Did Joe perform so poorly because he couldn't attend for that length of time? I could only hope.